The Splintered Crown
by Moon Dog Rex
Summary: Set 15 years after TAS, Lyra, Pan, Serafina, and a few new faces travel to America to confront the Seminary Council, the new and most powerful arm of the Magesterium. The fight for freedom continues. All reviews welcome. femslash not LB/SP.
1. Introduction: The Botanical Gardens

The sun was setting over Oxford. The spires and domes of the colleges were hazy in the distance, their silhouettes barely visible over the treetops. It was midsummer, and Lyra and Pantalaimon were sitting on a wooden bench overlooking the gardens.

They were subdued and quiet, strange behavior for Lyra and her dæmon. Even after fifteen years, the losing Will caused such a deep, burning pain that Lyra often thought she would die from it. On those early sleepless nights in the strange new girl's dormitories, Lyra would think that the pain of losing Will was nothing like she had ever felt before.

Then she would notice her dæmon, curled up at her by her side, his heart beating in time with hers, and she would remember the way that he looked on the dock at the edge of the world of the dead, and she would remember the pain in her heart. Could it be possible, she whispered, that she loved Will as much as she loved her own soul? The thought made her shiver, and so she put it out of her mind.

And every year she had kept her promise, every midsummer evening saw her and Pan sitting on this bench in this spot for an hour, thinking of Will and loving his memory with all her heart.

For the rest of the year she wouldn't let herself dwell on his memory, though hardly a day went by without her seeing his face, or feeling his hand close over hers. But for this hour she could think of him, and dream of what their life together would be like. She would dream of their children, with her eyes and his beautiful hair, she would dream of their bodies lying close together like they once did, his lips on hers.

"I'm a nun, Pan," she said grumpily. The moment after she said it she realized how ridiculous she sounded, and burst out laughing.

Pantalaimon spoke from the bench beside her. "How ironic. Here I thought we were trying to get rid of nuns?"

"Don't be silly. You know what I mean."

"You were thinking about Will." It wasn't a question.

"Of course I was."

"Don't grump at me. I loved them too." He nipped the side of her leg gently. Lyra put her hand on his head, and he was in her arms in an instant, her face pressed into his fur.

"I love you Pan," she breathed. She released him and stood up. "Time to go now, I think." Pan flowed onto the ground and stood up next to her, nearly reaching her waist with his head. They were both looking at the bench at the spot where Will once sat.

"Goodbye, Will," Lyra said, and now there were tears. She let them flow, unashamed. "I love you with all my heart. I miss you…I love you." A warm breeze filled the garden, and Lyra and her dæmon were silhouetted against the final rays of the setting son, an empty bench in front of them, and a hole in their heart that couldn't be filled in this world.

Lyra had the money for a cabbie, a rather new invention, though she preferred to walk. She didn't trust those three-wheeled horseless carriages, though they were all the rage in London. Oxford only had a few, and they were used to ferry important visitors back and forth.

Lyra knew Oxford city completely; she had played there as a child, studied a there as a scholar, and now lived there as one of the heads of the British Republic. Her apartments were small but comfortable, located next to Jordan College and built just for her.

After her groundbreaking work in alethiometry and her part in overthrowing the General Oblation Board, Lyra had been made an honorary Jordan Scholar, an honor never before given to a woman, let alone anyone under the age of thirty.

Lyra slipped out of her skirt and blouse and slid into a sleeveless evening gown. She sat cross-legged on her bed with the alethiometer in her lap. She read it every single night so as to keep her mind used to the state it had to enter to read it. After years of nightly sessions, she was nearly as good at reading it as she was when she was a child.

"What should I ask it?" she asked Pantalaimon.

"Ask it what we should do next."

"Go to sleep?" Her tone was light, but Lyra knew what he was talking about. After Britain had broke away from the Magesterium, political tensions were at an all time high. They were, literally and figuratively, surrounded.

Lyra set the hands to point at the tree, the helmet, and the moon. 'What can we do to protect ourselves from our unseen enemies?' The answer came swiftly: horse, crocodile, griffin, Madonna, sword, hourglass, sun. The blue needle moved swiftly and surely, and Lyra's eyes followed its movements with practiced understanding. It took her nearly twenty minutes to decipher the answer, but Dust was patient, and her diligence paid off. She came out of her trance slowly, blinking herself awake.

Pantalaimon was staring at her. "What did it say?"

"It was tricky…it said that we needed to go to the Americas…something about Serafina…and the Magesterium, and that people would die…the Magesterium is moving again. It's starting in the Americas. And it's up to us to stop it."

"I didn't know there was a branch of the Magesterium in the Americas," said Pan. "Let me get the book." He was gone in a flash to the study, and came back moments later with a thin volume in his mouth. Lyra took it from him and stared at the cover.

"'Agents of the Authority: The Many Hands of God.' Got that bit right, didn't they?" she said with scorn. She opened the book and thumbed through it quickly. "Here it is, Pan. It's called the Seminary Council, and it's based out of Boston, in the Northern Union." Lyra closed the book, a small frown on her face.

"If the Magesterium is making plans against us, then we need to move quickly. We'll have to talk to the Privy Council tomorrow; we can call a special meeting. Do you think they'll listen?"

"If they don't have the sense to trust you by now Lyra, then to hell with them," said Pan matter-of-factly.

"Right. And we should call Serafina Pekkala. The alethiometer did mention her." Lyra crossed the room and opened a small chest that stood on her dressing table. Inside lay a single purple flower in full bloom. Lyra gently lifted the flower to her lips and spoke.

"I need your help, Serafina Pekkala."


	2. Part I: Boston: The Privy Council

The Privy Council was in chaos. Lyra had called a meeting the very next day, and had just revealed to the Council what the alethiometer had told her. The room was filled with raised voices and shrieking dæmons. Lyra was seated and looking glum, with Pan on her shoulder snapping at any dæmon that came too close.

Tony Costa was seated at Lyra's left. After the death of John Faa, Tony and the Costas had risen to even higher prominence in the Gyptian world. He was elected King of the Gyptians, and proved a steadfast friend and ally to Lyra during the Revolution.

Sitting almost directly across the round table from Lyra was her favorite professor, Marcia Bucher. She was the only other person still seated, and from the look on her rather plain face Lyra could tell that she was about two seconds away from screaming. She giggled, remembering how many times she had been the cause of that face.

Marcia's dæmon, a very small owl named Othello, flew to the middle of the table. Pantalaimon, sensing his intentions, leapt to meet him. Lyra listened in.

"Would you like me to say something?" Othello asked Pan.

"We could claw at them instead. Your choice," Pan replied. Lyra giggled. Marcia's mouth twitched. Both dæmons returned to their humans, and Lyra had to try very hard to keep a straight face.

"Excuse me," Marcia said normally, though with all the hubbub no one could hear her. She tried again, a little louder. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" Nothing.

"Heavens to Betsy, can you all sit down?" she said in exasperation.

Marcia looked at Lyra and shrugged. Lyra pointed at her own ears in response. Marcia, sensing her intent, quickly put her hands over her ears as Lyra let out a piercing shriek. All of the arguing men covered their ears and turned to look at Lyra, who only stopped screaming when her voice ran out.

"Gentlemen," Marcia said as she uncovered her ears, "gentlemen, could you please take a seat?" The men of the council were shocked into compliance, and there was a scraping of chairs as they all sat down.

"Bickering will get us no where," Marcia continued, her amusement only evident by Othello, who was circling her head in tight circles. "What we need to do is discuss the matter calmly, like the adults that we all are." The corners of her mouth twitched again.

"Well said," someone muttered, breaking the silence.

"Gentlemen," Lyra said, taking Marica's cue, "I have already posted a letter to the Seminary Council, requesting an audience on behalf of the British Republic. I intend to travel there with a delegation from this body and the Northern Witches to try and uncover what is really going on."

The men had begun to mutter near the end of her speech, many were obviously discontent with her plan.

"Bollocks," one man said. "They will never give you an audience. Meeting with you would give us an undeniable legitimacy; it would put us on the same level as them. They can't afford to have us seen as equals."

"Sir William," Lyra said, "I know that they won't voluntarily give me an audience. I en't that stupid. Which is why I'm going to leave before they reply to my letter. If you all agree, that is." Lyra wasn't embarrassed in the least by the council's shocked stares, for her this little deception was the easiest and simplest course of action.

"You would dare to spit in the face of the Magesterium in such a way?" Sir William's plump face had turned an alarming red. Pantalaimon's fur was standing on end, and Lyra's eyebrows had knitted together slightly. "Do you have any idea of the danger that we're all in? Of the danger we've put this country in? We are walking a very fine line, missy—"

Pantalaimon jumped onto the table in front of Lyra, a low hiss escaping from between his bared teeth. Tony Costa's hawk and Marcia's owl had taken flight, shrieking around the room. All three humans had risen to their feet, all of them staring at Sir William. His lizard dæmon was on the table facing Pan, though she hung very close to her human.

"How dare you address me so, Sir William," Lyra said. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I done more then you know for this country. I done more than you, that's for sure."

"I cannot allow you to put this country at further risk."

"So you would have us do nothing for anybody else?" Lyra asked incredulously.

"England cannot save the world by herself. You cannot save the world by yourself, Lyra Belacqua." She was shaking her head.

"You're wrong. I can, and I will."

"What makes you so special?" He had said the wrong thing. Lyra had only looked angry before, now she looked positively livid. Her rage was almost tangible, and frightening.

"I'm the daughter of the Lady Coulter and Lord Asriel. I traveled to other worlds with the bearer of the Subtle Knife, all the way to the world of the dead. We let the dead out, Sir William. Me and Will let the dead be free. We made it so that you don't have to be alone forever. That's what I done."

"And I made a promise. I vowed to bring down the Magesterium here, and Will'll do the same. And I will bring it down, I'll fight them 'til my last breath if I got to."  
The council chamber was silent. Marcia and Tony had sat down during Lyra's speech, now she was the only one standing, her chest heaving with passion. Sir William cleared his throat.

"Let us vote. All who favor Lyra's proposal to travel to the Northern Union and confront the Seminary Council, raise your hands." Lyra's hand shot up, followed nearly as quickly by Tony Costa, Marcia Bucher, and four other men. "All opposed?" The remaining eight members of the council raised their hands, including Sir William. "Denied," he said with satisfaction. ""I'm sorry, Lyra."

"We don't need you. You'll see." And without another word, she and Pan turned and marched from the room, leaving the heavy wooden doors open behind her, a testament to her absence.

Lyra was marching away from the Council Chambers, her footsteps ringing on the cobbled walk. She was fuming, to be sure, but she was determined to see this course of action through.

"We're still going, aren't we?" Pantalaimon asked from her side.

"Course we are," Lyra said. "We don't need their help. We got plenty of gold. It would have been nice to have some—"

"Lyra! Lyra, wait!" She stopped and turned to see Marcia and Tony hurrying towards her from the Council Chamber; long, lithe Tony was striding along easily and tiny Marcia was nearly running to keep up, her skirt billowing around her.

"Lyra, I'm so sorry," Marcia said when they caught up to her. She seemed to teeter on the edge of wanting to hug Lyra, but decided against it.

"Don't be," Lyra said. "It en't your fault."

"What can we do for you?" Marcia asked. Othello hooted softly.

"The Gyptians will support you in whatever you decide to do, of course," Tony said, his voice low and serious.

"I know Lord Costa—" a shadow of a grimace flashed across Tony's face. "Tony," Lyra corrected herself. "Me and Pan are going to go anyway. We decided while Sir William was making his speech. We can't not go."

"You're certainly not going alone, Lyra," Tony said. "We can provide you with a ship and a crew, and a guard, if you need it."

"She will not need a Gyptian guard," a new voice said. Lyra's eyes went wide, and she turned to see the familiar face of Serafina Pekkala, High Queen of the Northern Witches, and Lyra's dear, dear friend.

"She will have a company of witches at her side," Serafina continued. "Though we would not shun your help, Lord Costa. Gyptians are friends and allies always."

"Serafina!" Lyra said, finally recovering from the shock of seeing her so soon. She jumped into her friend's arms, and Serafina returned the hug, and kissed Lyra on the lips.

"It is good to see you again, child," she said softly, beaming at Lyra.

"How did you get here so fast?" Lyra asked.

"When I got your message, I departed immediately. I sent Kaisa to Iorek Byrnison, he is there now and he will relay everything that you tell me. I knew you wouldn't call me like that unless there was a grave need. What has happened?"

Lyra recounted her reading of the alethiometer and the subsequent meeting with the Privy Council. Serafina listened without a word, though her expression grew darker and darker as Lyra's tale wound down.

"I should get away from this place," Serafina said. "It's taking every ounce of my willpower not to bury my knife in Sir William's chest."

"You wouldn't want to stain your blade with a coward's blood," Lyra said. Serafina had to laugh at that.

"Lyra, I pledge to you the support of the Northern Witches. We will fight for you against the Magesterium. When do we leave?"

Lyra turned to Tony. "We can have a boat outfitted and ready in four days," he said in response to her questioning look. "The crew and captain will be under your command, and stay with you as long as you need them."

"Thank you Tony. Serafina, can you be ready in four days?"

In answer, Serafina raised her right hand to the sky. Lyra, Marcia, and Tony all looked up to see six witches circling overhead, their bodies dark against the pale sky.

Lyra shivered, though it wasn't from fear. She had experienced the feeling before when she was a child. It was a feeling of excitement. She had faced the unknown before, and found herself equal to it. Pantalaimon felt her rush of emotion and brushed up against her leg.

"Four days," Lyra said to herself. In four days her life would change again. In four days her entire world would shift, and she would have to be equal to the change once more, or perish in the attempt.


	3. Part I: Boston: The Shipyards

The steamship cut a white line in the cool grey waters of the north Atlantic. Lyra was standing near the bow of the ship with Pantalaimon, enjoying the stiff breeze and the salty smell of the sea. She hadn't been on the ocean since she and Serafina had returned from the world of the Mulefa. She had forgotten how much she missed it, how wide and open everything seemed when there was nothing around you but water.

Pan was perched on the railing, his fur rippling in the wind. Lyra's hand was on his back, not for his safety, he had perfect balance, but for her own reassurance. She was nervous, as much as it angered her to admit it, even to herself.

She knew she would have to lie, that much was certain. Not like that was much of an issue, lying came as naturally as breathing did to Lyra. But she was part of a governing body now, as much as that irked her, and her lies had limits.

Serafina could feel Lyra's conflicting emotions rolling off her, as evident to her as if Lyra had spoken her thoughts aloud. "Lyra?" Serafina said, coming to stand next to her.

"I forgot how much I hate politicians," Lyra said grumpily. "That's all they are, en't they? Just politicians in disguise as priests. That's all the liars are."

"It's to your advantage, Lyra," Serafina said. "If they were only priests, they could simply hide behind the inaccuracies of their religion, and do whatever they pleased, saying that it was the will of the Authority."

"I know that," Lyra said. "But I don't know how that's going to help me see them. You know as well as I do that they won't want to see me. What's to stop them from refusing?"

"Have you ever encountered the Seminary Council before, Lyra?" Lyra shook her head. "You've never been to the Northern Union, correct?" Lyra shook her head again.

"Then you must listen carefully to me now. The Magesterium in the Union has completely permeated the existing government. They are bound completely by the society in which they live, the society that they created. Everything there is based on appearances. Truth and honesty counts for little in the Union, particularly in the Capitol. Lies and deceit will be your strongest allies."

"I'm a good liar," Lyra said absently. "I just don't know what to tell them. I still don't know how I'm going to see them. They en't gonna notice me."

"Perhaps it would be better for us to stay on the ship," Serafina said thoughtfully. "You'll have a difficult enough time to getting through the city without a coven of witches following you around everywhere. Though I am loath to leave you alone. Perhaps we can wear human clothes, constrictive though they are." Serafina looked extremely put out at the very thought of donning human clothes.

Lyra had a thought then. She felt as if she could see the perfect solution in front of her, shining and wonderful; it was her own personal sun. She smiled. Serafina looked at Lyra curiously.

"Serafina," Lyra said, "You wouldn't be opposed to walking through Boston with me, would you? Dressed like you normally are, I mean."

"Of course not. But how will that help us?"

"If I just go, they can ignore me. But if we all go in together, and walk through the city, everyone's gonna see us. Everybody's gonna notice us. They can't ignore us then. It'll be like they called us there, not like we was dropping in on them."

"Lyra, child," Serafina said in wonder. "Yes. Well done. Well done indeed."

Lyra's eyes were dancing with excitement. "This is going to work."

Boston. The wealthiest and grandest city in the Americas, and the capital of the Union. A city steeped in history, it was the first city to fall to the British Army in 1776 in their war to take the Americas as an official British nation. They failed, ultimately, in acquiring political territory, but the Magesterium was able to slip in to American politics easily.

Under their influence, Boston became the cultural center of America, and after the Civil War was over, it replaced Philadelphia as the nation's capital. As such, it served as the home for the politically powerful and the socially elite. It was a city as far removed from Oxford as a city could be, and as alien to Lyra as London had been when she was a girl.

She stood by the ship's railing as it passed through Boston's busy harbor, Serafina at her side, both of them silent and watchful. Pan was curled up in her arms, his nose twitching every now and then at the new smells.

The ship took about an hour to get a berth and dock, and as the gangplank was lowered, Lyra stepped for the first time onto American soil. She was dressed elegantly, at Serafina's insistence, in a long navy skirt with a matching jacket over a light blue blouse. Her hair was tamed into an elegant bun with gold circlet to hold it in place.

Serafina and the other witches stood out in sharp contrast to Lyra. They were clad, as they normally were, in strips of black silk. They wore their bows and quivers on their back, and every witch had her own cloud pine branch with her.

Every eye was on them in the shipping district, not one man could look away from them. The burly dockhands were whistling at the witches, stopping their work and pointing at them openly. Many of the younger sailors and captain's boys looked as though the sight of so much bare skin had stunned them.

The witches, used to this reaction from strangers, were unabashed. Lyra was far too distracted to notice their stares, and if she had noticed, she would not have cared. She set off with a purposeful step towards the city center, her heathen guard in tow.

The shipping district ended abruptly as the stone and metal warehouses opened into the Boston Common Marketplace. A huge stone courtyard was filled throughout with hundreds of vendors, all of them clamoring for a sale. Lyra felt at home here; a brief respite, for in the throngs of busy shoppers, they were unnoticeable.

Serafina whispered in Lyra's ear, and she turned right out of the Market and onto a wide cobblestone street. As the road curved, the sounds and smells of the Market faded, only to be replaced by the suffocating sound of the rich going about their business.

The colorful stalls of the Market were gone, replaced by boutiques and shops with wide windows and gleaming anbaric lights. There weren't nearly as many people in the streets, and what were there were mostly women and children. All of them were dressed to perfection in the latest styles, and all at once Lyra, Serafina, and the other witches were the center of attention.

No one stopped in their tracks, no one pulled their children behind them to shield them. But all eyes were on them, and none of them were friendly. Every now and then they would catch part of a whispered conversation held behind daintily gloved hands.

"Who are they?"

"My God, what are they wearing?"

"Is it even legal?"

"Mommy, who are those harlots?"

"They can't be real witches!"

"Surely not!" And so on.

The witches, able to be equally haughty and aloof, ignored them. Lyra, prone as she was to remarks about her heritage, found it necessary to confront a pair of young women. The plumper of the two had just finished calling them peasants, an offense that Lyra couldn't take.

In a moment she was in the woman's face, and Pantalaimon was snarling in the face of her stoat dæmon, who shrank away from him to hide behind his human's ankles.

"How dare you call us peasants!" Lyra said passionately. "D'you know who we are? I'm Lyra Belacqua, a noble by birth, and a witch Queen by adoption. And that's Serafina Pekkala, Queen of the Witches of Norroway! You best beg her pardon. I wouldn't want to anger a witch."

The plump girl had gone very pale, and bobbed her head to Serafina before hurrying away with her friend. Lyra stared after them in disgust, a look mirrored on Pan's face. She spit on the sidewalk and turned back to the witches, only to find them staring at her in evident amusement.

"Lyra child," Serafina said, "you never were a subtle creature."

"Yeah, well. We en't got time for subtle."

They began walking again, through the narrow streets lined with shops and into the business section. The fashionable women were replaced by men in suits and jackets, all of them equal parts mortified by and attracted to the witches, who, for their part, kept their heads up and gazes fierce.

And so they cut a path through the city, heading all the while towards Beacon Hill, the epicenter of the city and the nation. Sitting atop the crest of the hill and overlooking the rest of the city sat the Basilica of Saint Botolph, the grand seat of the Seminary Council.


	4. Part I: Boston: Beacon Hill

111

"She's here?" Father Lilliman exclaimed hotly. "You're sure it's the Belacqua fanatic?" His falcon dæmon flapped her wings in agitation.

"Yes, Father, she is here." Father Lilliman and his aid, Vicar Anders, were standing in a long wide hallway, speaking in hushed, angry tones. Lilliman was the public face of the Seminary Council to the people of Boston, and it was his duty to receive important visitors and escort them to the offices of Bishop Weston. The Bishop was the most powerful man in the Union, and he was also the man who signed the letter denying Lyra Belacqua's request for an audience. And now she was here.

"Damnit," Lilliman swore softly. He turned away from Anders to look out at the city, his arms crossed. Everything would be alright, he told himself silently. We can see her and send her away, and no one will know.

"There's more, Father," Anders said quietly. Lilliman turned around to find the man staring at the ground. His retriever dæmon was in nearly the same position, with her tail slightly between her legs.

"What Anders. Tell me now and be quick."

"She's not alone, Father. She has a—a coven of witches with her."

Lilliman's face had turned red in anger. "An entire coven?"

"I don't think so, Father. There's seven witches total. They—"

"Father Lilliman! Father Lilliman!" Lilliman and Anders both turned to see a young priest running down the hallway towards them. He came to a halt before them, panting, and bowed quickly.

"What is it?" Lilliman asked forcefully.

"There's a large crowd outside, father. They're waiting at the gates."

"How many people are there?" Lilliman demanded, grabbing the unfortunate priest by his shirtfront and shaking him roughly. "How many are there? What do they want?"

"They seem to have followed the Belacqua woman, Father," stammered the young priest. At his words, Lilliman's hands slackened enough for the priest to pull away from him; he stumbled on the uneven floor and went to his hands and knees. His raccoon dæmon let out a whimper and begin licking his scraped palms.

"What is your name, my son?" he asked the kneeling priest. He seemed hurried, yet his voice sounded sincere.

"Brother Dunlan, Father. Artur Dunlan." Lilliman put his hands on Brother Dunlan's head. The younger man closed his eyes, and pulled his dæmon into his hands.

"May you be blessed in the name of the Authority, Brother Dunlan," Father Lilliman said quietly. "And may you never waver in your service to Him." Lilliman took his hands off of Brother Dunlan, and with a gesture swept the young priest and Anders away with him.

"They're expecting me, I already told you that twice!" Lyra said angrily. Pan, perched on her shoulder, bared his teeth at the gateman.

"I already told you, the Basilica is closed today. The Council is in repose—"

"You can't close a church," Lyra said sarcastically. "What if I want to come in and pray? Or should I just kneel down right here?"

"Might as well, you can give us a thrill while you are," the gateman muttered. After all, he was not a cleric; he and the other guards of the Basilica were hired soldiers. Their loyalty was bought in gold, and all of them were very loyal indeed.

Lyra's eyes flashed. She looked over her shoulder at Serafina, trying to calm herself down, and for a moment Serafina was frightened. In Lyra's eyes she saw her mother, the woman she had once vowed to kill. In Lyra's eyes she saw her lover, the boy whose gaze she dare not meet. Lyra was a force to be reckoned with in that moment, for she had with her the will of her mother and the passion of her lover.

Lyra turned her terrible gaze upon the unfortunate gateman. "You pathetic—" the gateman took a step back with each word "—miserable, filthy bastard," Lyra snarled, in a voice unlike her usual one; her voice was far deeper and far angrier than Serafina had ever heard it before.

"You forget who you are talking to sir." Each word was like the thud of an arrow hitting its target. "I am the Lady Belacqua, daughter of the Lady Coulter. You would have opened these gates for my mother, now you will open them for me. Open the gates." The gateman didn't move.

"Open the gates!" Lyra commanded, and such was the power and force that she wielded that the guard had no choice but to do as she bid. Serafina released the hand that, until that moment, had been resting on the hilt of her knife. She followed Lyra without a word to the gateman, though she glared at him as she walked past.

"Lyra," she whispered in her ear, "remember yourself. Forget that pathetic creature."

"I am myself, Serafina dear," Lyra said calmly. Looking closer, Serafina saw that her calm was a mask, hiding her bubbling emotions beneath it. It was a clever disguise, no short-life would be able to see through it, provided she managed to keep her emotions in check.

"Look sharp, Lyra," another witch said, pointing with her finger. "Two priests are coming this way." Lyra and Serafina looked where she was pointing. Two men were walking quickly down the path towards the women. Lyra stopped and waited where she was, surveying her surroundings serenely.

"Lady Belacqua?" the man with the falcon dæmon asked.

"Yes, your grace," Lyra said prettily, bowing gently. The witches, stunned by her sudden change in attitude, could only stand in cold silence, which further accentuated her point. "It's an honor to meet you."

"I—yes," stammered the priest, taken aback by Lyra's sweet greeting. "I am Father Lilliman. It is my duty to greet all important visitors who seek an audience with the Seminary Council."

"I am humbled to be received by your grace directly." Lyra smiled at him with a deliciously realistic demeanor.

"The honor is all mine I assure you," Lilliman said, flustered. He was still young and handsome, and did not often receive attention and compliments from pretty women. "This is my assistant, Vicar Anders, and one of our most promising students, Brother Dulan." Anders was scrutinizing Lyra carefully, his expression hard. Brother Dunlan, on the other hand, seemed positively radiant to be standing in front of Lyra and the witches.

"This is Serafina Pekkala, Queen of the Witches of Norroway. She and her clan are here as my escort and protection."

Father Lilliman inclined his head towards Serafina, who only looked at him coldly. Turning back to Lyra, he said, "Will you walk with me, Lady Belacqua? It would be my pleasure to show you the Basilica."

Lyra smiled radiantly at Lilliman and slipped her arm through his, though it was not offered. She and Lilliman began walking, leaving the other priests and the witches in their wake.

"You know, I didn't really want all of the witches to come, Father," Lyra said coquettishly. "My masters on the Privy Council wanted ensure my safety. But I said to them, 'Sirs, I am going into a church!' They only laughed at me though. I know no harm will come to me."

"Of course not, Lady," Lilliman. "They were foolish to think such a thing."

Lyra spent the day on Father Lilliman's arm as he led her and the witches through the Basilica, giving them the ultimate grand tour. Lyra giggled and gasped the whole time, pretending to find the building impressive and Lilliman's jokes humorous. She kept dropping subtle hints about seeing the Council, but Lilliman was always able to put her off by the next statue or tapestry.

It really was a magnificent building, even by Oxford standards. Though technically, there were several buildings connected together. They were all built of red brick and limestone, and all done in the American Federal style. The building closest to the gate was the actual church, with a respectable rotunda positioned over the center altar. On the left were the offices of the various priests and bishops that lived and worked at the Basilica. Behind the church was the main rotunda, an enormous dome that dwarfed the one in front of it.

As the sun was setting, its rays shining through the glass windows near the top of the Basilica's main rotunda, Lyra spied a set of enormous golden doors. Removing her arm gently from Lilliman's, she walked over towards the doors, pretending to be awed by their luster.

"Lady Belacqua—" Lilliman started to say as he followed after Lyra.

"Your Grace, what is behind these doors?" Lyra asked in hushed tones. "They're magnificent."

"Its…erm…the Seminary Council meets behind there," Lilliman admitted reluctantly. Lyra's face lit up, and she smiled.

"Oh, I would dearly love to see their chambers, your Grace," Lyra said. "Could we peek inside?"

"We cannot, my Lady, unfortunately," Lilliman said.

"Why not?" Lyra pouted slightly. With her lower lip sticking out in that manner, she looked positively sexy. Brother Dunlan was practically drooling on the floor at the sight of her. Serafina rolled her eyes. The woman was good.

"Because, erm…well, actually—"

"The Council is meeting right now," Brother Dunlan interrupted, speaking for the first time all afternoon. Father Lilliman glared at him swiftly.

"Well, now that's just perfect, isn't it?" Lyra asked brightly. She turned away from the priest and began to walk towards the doors again. Lilliman made to stop her, but Serafina was quicker, and she feigned tripping on her clothes, falling in front of Lilliman and causing the man to fall over.

Serafina's distraction gave Lyra the time she needed. Moving quickly, she grasped the large golden door handles and pulled the heavy doors open. Inside was a small room, though by far the grandest she had yet seen. The floors and walls of the circular room were made of dark wood, the ceiling was painted in a vivid fresco. Biblical scenes were pained on the walls between the wooded columns.

In the center of the room was a table with seven sides. There were seven people sitting around the table, six men and one woman. All of the men looked up in surprise at Lyra's entrance; the woman didn't turn, her back was to Lyra.

Lyra's breath caught in her throat, she gasped. The woman sitting in the chair had her back to Lyra, and all she could see was of her was her long, shining dark hair.


	5. Part I: Boston: The Golden Doors

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" thundered the man across the table from the doors. His chair was the largest and the most ornate, Pan thought to Lyra, he must be the bishop. Getting no response, he nipped her hand.

Lyra shook herself awake at Pan's touch. The woman couldn't be her mother. At last she turned around to see the intruders, and Lyra was proved correct. Her face was young and pretty, but it seemed old at the same time. A witch, Lyra thought.

"Father Lilliman!" he called out. "Come here at once!" Lilliman slipped into the room between Lyra and Serafina, who had come to stand in the doorway. His head hung down in shame, but his eyes burned brightly with hatred. Lyra started at the fury in his gaze as he walked past her.

"Holiness, forgive me," Lilliman begged as he walked into the room. His hands were clasped before him.

"Who are these intruders?" the Bishop asked coldly, ignoring Lilliman's request. Lilliman opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted.

"Lyra Silvertongue, of the British Republic," Lyra said calmly and clearly. All heads immediately swiveled in her direction. It so perfect, it was almost comical.

"You didn't receive our reply then?" one of the seated men asked her.

"I did," Lyra said as she stepped farther into the room, "but the most unbelievable thing happened. I was opening it while I was brushing my teeth, and the letter fell into the basin, and by the time I could get it back out, it was unreadable." She shrugged apologetically.

"It was my own fault, but I know how magnanimous you are, your Graces. I was so sure that you were accepting my request and bidding me hurry here with full speed, and so I did. That is what you wanted, right?"

Her question hung in the air, unanswered, and seemed to make the silence more and more uncomfortable. Lyra's head was buzzing with thoughts, what to say next?

"Of course we wish to speak with you," the Bishop said slowly, carefully. "Won't you join us? River," he said commandingly to the woman. She rose and walked softly to stand behind the Bishop.

She was unlike any witch Lyra and Serafina had seen. She was dressed, not in black silk strips, but in a layered dress that covered every area of her body except for her hands and her face. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head, and she wore no jewelry or cosmetics. Serafina distrusted her immediately, so foreign was she.

Lyra settled into the witch's—was her name River—seat. Serafina stood by her shoulder, one hand resting lightly on Lyra's neck under her hair. The other rested not nearly as gently on the hilt of her knife.

The Bishop made a shooing motion with his hands towards Lilliman and the witches, who looked at Serafina, uncertain. They left after a slight nod from Serafina. The golden doors closed behind them with a soft thud. Lyra shivered in spite of herself; she felt Serafina's fingers tighten in reassurance.

"Lyra…Silvertongue?" The Bishop asked. He sounded condescending. Lyra was equal to that.

"Yes. You must be Bishop Elliott?" Lyra asked him in the same demeaning tone.

"I am. This is Cardinal Kelly," he said, gesturing to the man on his left. Kelly was a plump man, whose nose and mouth twitched every few seconds. His eyes were small and watery, and looked like a generally unpleasant and unintelligent person. His dæmon, a cat, sat lazily on his lap.

"The Administer Hopton." Hopton was younger still, but his face was pockmarked and scarred, giving him a frightening look in the dim light. His black hair was combed back and fell to his collar, and his raven dæmon was nearly invisible on his shoulder.

"Cardinal Poyner." Poyner sat on Lyra's right, and was wearing the worst cologne that Lyra had ever smelled, which seemed to fit his skunk dæmon. He had a thick moustache that was trimmed and clean, and his eyes were bright and intelligent under his thick eyebrows.

"Cardinal Ingram." Ingram was on Lyra's left. He was dark-skinned and had dark curly hair that was beginning to gray at the temples. He wore a solemn expression as he looked at Lyra over his steepled fingers.

"And Prefect Woodward." Woodward was a young and attractive man with blonde hair and had the prettiest ermine dæmon Lyra had ever seen. He watched her curiously, and didn't look away when she stared back.

Bishop Elliott stopped talking. Ingram's frog dæmon croaked loudly. "And who is she?" Lyra asked, looking curiously at the witch standing behind the Bishop.

"Ah yes, this is River, a witch from Western Canada." River stared at Serafina with wide brown eyes, and ignored Lyra completely.

"Now that we all know each other's names…" Serafina said, her eyes locked with the other witch's.

"Yes, well then, to business," said the Bishop, who was clearly affronted at Serafina's disdain for his authority in beginning and ending matters. "Your letter said, Miss Silvertongue, if my memory is correct, that you wish us to formally acknowledge your Republic as the legitimate government of Great Britain."

"That is correct, yes," Lyra said, nodding her head. Her body was still and her face blank, but her hands stroked Pantalaimon's fur under the table, revealing her concealed tension.

"Why in the name of the Authority would we want to do that?" the Bishop asked her heavily.

"Because I represent the government of the British Republic," Lyra said sweetly. "The people have decided that they would rather govern themselves then be governed by the Magesterium."

"The Magesterium exists to govern through the will of the Authority," Cardinal Ingram said. His voice was deep and rough, though not unpleasant. "The common folk do not have, the eh…self control necessary to govern themselves."

"The common folk?" Lyra asked him scornfully. "You mean the people you claim to care so much about? The people that you mock through your ignorance of their pleas?"

"The Authority hears all, Miss Silvertongue," Cardinal Poyner said quietly. His voice was deep and raspy. "It is our sacred duty to carry out his will as we see fit. He has blessed us in this manner."

"And what if he is unhappy with how you lot are doing things?" Lyra shot back.

"Then naturally he will remove us from power," Prefect Woodward said matter-of-factly. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and Lyra saw in his eyes a fervent passion, a look that she hadn't seen in years. It was the look that she had seen in Will's eyes every time he looked at her.

For the Prefect, it was different. His love was for a myth and a legend, not a real person. His tone suggested that their removal of power was the most unlikely occurrence in the world. Still, the words had to be corrected.

Bishop Elliot cleared his throat. "What the Prefect means is that—"

"We are educated to understand the wishes of the Authority," Prefect Woodward interrupted smoothly. "We do not claim to be perfect, but we are working under the Authority's grace. At this point in time, the Magesterium is at the height of its power. The work of the Authority goes on, and with far greater success than you can imagine."

"Then how did we manage to overthr—"

"That is enough talk for today, Miss Silvertongue," interrupted the Bishop. "We have heard what you had to say—"

"But I en't—" protested Lyra, but Elliot kept talking.

"—and we will consider your proposal. You are welcome to stay here as our guests until we have reached a final decision. That is all. River, find some rooms for them to stay in for a few days." River bowed to the Bishop and began to walk towards the door. Lyra stood up and nodded to the Bishop and his aides. Serafina glared at them all as River swept them out of the room.

Lyra had to run to keep up with the strange witch, for she rushed along the hallways and staircases as though she were being chased. Serafina and her clan kept pace easily, but Lyra could feel Pan's frustration at their pace; she bent down to scoop him up. He licked her face.

Finally they stopped in a small hallway lined with plain white doors. The grandeur of the Basilica was not evident here, the floors were scuffed wood, the walls faded and peeling plaster. River stepped around Lyra and opened a door.

"You can have this room and the next four," she said quickly. Everything about this woman seemed rushed, Lyra thought. "I expect they will send food and drink up shortly. The Bishop will summon you when it is most convenient."

"I am a queen," Serafina said softly, lifting her chin. Her gaze was powerful, her pride deep and unmoving, unshakable. "I am not summoned to anyplace or anyone, and least of all by the likes of Elliot."

"The Bishop will summon you when it is most convenient for the Council." River nodded her head, more of a bob then a nod, and disappeared quickly down the corridor.

"I distrust her," one of the witches said to Serafina. Lyra didn't either, but someone had to be the diplomat here.

"Nor do I, but it would seem that we have no choice in the matter. We must accept their hospitality—" Serafina snorted—"such as it is," Lyra said glaring at the witch queen, "for the time being."


	6. Part I: Boston: Blood Red Wine

Lyra was in Serafina's room. The witch was seated cross-legged on the hard mattress, the only remotely comfortable piece of furniture in the dingy room. Pan was perched on the metal headboard, watching Lyra as she paced back and forth.

"Serafina, I hear you, but there's got to be something else I can say to convince them!"

"I still say patience will serve you best."

"A virtue I don't have a lot of."

"A practiced art, and one you must learn, especially since you are dealing with these politicians."

There was a knock at the door. "Enter," Serafina called. The door opened and Father Lilliman entered bearing a tray laden with food and wine, which he placed on the small table.

"Father Lilliman, I wanted to—" Lilliman ignored Lyra, slamming the door behind him as he left. "—apologize. Well, he seems happy, don't he?"

"Positively ecstatic," Serafina said dryly.

"You know, I don't like you when you're sarcastic," Lyra said in jest. "Pan, what do we have to eat?" Pantalaimon scurried over to the table to inspect its contents.

"Some bread and cheese, a few grapes, and two apples. And the wine." Pan wrinkled his nose. "I bet the Bishop doesn't eat this for his supper."

"I bet he doesn't eat off of chipped china either," Lyra said. "Golden plates most like, covered with good meats and fresh bread."

"And roast vegetables," Pan said.

Lyra made a face. "He can keep his vegetables. I wonder how the wine is?" She crossed the room and pulled the cork, and poured herself a healthy amount in one of the glasses. "At least they didn't give us bad wine in ceramic cups," Lyra said. She raised the glass to Serafina. "To your health, my dear," she said, and lifted the cup.

The door slammed open. River stood in the doorway, a wild look in her eyes. She darted forward and slapped the cup from Lyra's fingers. It smashed on the floor. In the same instant, Serafina darted forward and grabbed River's outstretched wrist. She twisted her hand and wrenched River's arm painfully behind her back, and forced her up against the wall.

"Give me a reason not to slit your throat now," Serafina's voice was low and deep as Lyra had ever heard it; her mouth was an inch from River's ear.

"If she had drunk that wine, she would be on the floor dying in a matter of moments," River said between clenched teeth. Lyra took a step back in shock as Pantalaimon jumped between her and the witches, his teeth bared, hissing.

"What would you care? You're thier pet." Serafina spat out the last word like a curse.

"Do you want to leave these walls alive or dead?" River asked her, ignoring Serafina's question. "They'll be here in a few minutes to collect the bodies, and to burn them. You'll never be able to find your way out alone, these halls are a maze, and all of them underground. I can get you out of here, but you need to let me go!"

"Why would you help us?" Serafina asked again. "Answer me!" she demanded of River's silence.

"Serafina, let her go, please," Lyra said, laying a hand on her arm.

"If she can turn on her Authority, on her own nature, she can turn on us. Lyra, you are a woman grown, but still a child to me, heed my advice, she cannot be trusted."

"We en't got a choice but to trust her. I don't like it anymore than you do, but we can't help anyone if we're dead." Serafina stared at her for a long moment, before stepping back and releasing River.

"We must go now," she said, turning and leaving the room. Serafina followed her, and Lyra paused only long enough to snatch her bag that held the alethiometer before she too was out the door, Pan at her heels.

Serafina was standing in an open doorway farther down, unmoving. Lyra walked up to her, knowing what she would see. The witch lay on the floor, the veins in her neck standing out against her skin. The woman's throat was bleeding where she had clawed at it.

"Yambe-Akka, be kind to her," Serafina said to herself. And then to Lyra, "They will be avenged."


	7. Part I: Boston: The Witches Flight

River snatched a cloud pine branch from the bed and shoved it into the witch's hands. "Take this and come with me," River said. She turned and left the room. Serafina stood still, staring at the dead witch. Lyra was beginning to become frantic, she didn't want to be here when the Magesterium found them.

Pan was at her side, his head rubbing against her leg. She could feel his fear, feel how it fueled her own. She grabbed Serafina's arm and pulled on it. "Come on Serafina dear, we've got to go."

Serafina allowed herself to be pulled from the room and down the hall to where River was waiting impatiently in an intersection with another hallway. She was looking around nervously, and wringing her cloud pine branch between her hands. At her feet, a small pile of needles was growing.

"Come with me now," River said. "Follow me closely. If I say hide, you hide, if I say be quiet, you be quiet. If we run into anyone, just let me do the talking. Alright?"

Lyra looked at Serafina. She saw in her eyes the same doubt that was running through her mind, 'can we trust her?' Lyra's head was spinning with all of the frightful traps that they could be walking into. She knew firsthand the kind of evils that these beasts in vestments could come up with.

Pan jumped into her arms and pressed his heart against hers. She hugged him tightly as she listened his thoughts, 'We can't stay here.' He was right. They had no choice.

River led the way down the hallway, Lyra, Pan, and Serafina close on her heels. Left, right, through a set of double doors, and through a glass and brick skyway. Out of the windows, Lyra could see the city of Boston spread out below her. In the distance, the lights of the shipyards reflected off of the dark water.

Closer to the skyway, just inside of the Seminary's outer wall, guards patrolled with their dæmons, every one a fierce looking dog. Lyra increased her pace, slightly frantic.

"Almost there now," River said quietly.

The trio of women burst through the doors at the end of the skyway, and ran headfirst into Father Lilliman. River went down first, falling directly onto the Priest. Lyra tripped over the two of them and went sprawling, falling hard onto her shoulder.

Only Serafina remained on her feet, her reflexes and agility honed from hundreds of years of life. For all that, she nearly ran into Lilliman's dæmon; the falcon had launched off of his shoulder when he went down.

"Lyra!" Serafina reached for the woman, and hauled her to her feet, leaving River and Lilliman to untangle themselves. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Lyra declared stubbornly as she rubbed her shoulder. Lilliman was staring at the three of them as River got to her feet; he was lying still on the floor, his mouth agape, an almost comical expression. The three women stared down at him, the moment seemingly frozen.

But the moment was broken by Lilliman's dæmon's wild screech, and a yell. "The Infidels are escaping! Guards! The infidels are—yeargh!" Pantalaimon had launched himself from Lyra's shoulder at the screaming dæmon, cutting off her cries. Lilliman cried out in pain and recoiled, twitching.

"Come!" River cried, and turned on her heel as the sound of slamming doors and loud footsteps began to echo around them. Lyra called to Pan, who leapt off of the falcon and into her arms. Only Serafina lingered, staring down at the priest in disgust.

Recovering from the assault on his dæmon, he took a deep breath. "To me! They are escaping! To the fourth floor!"

Serafina's eyes narrowed dangerously. Moving quickly, she drew an arrow, knocked it, and drew the string of her bow back. Lyra saw what she was doing, and suddenly felt a moment of pity for the priest. She threw herself into Serafina, and the arrow flew harmlessly into the wall where it snapped in two.

Serafina spared not a glance for Lyra, but shrieked a Scandinavian and struck at Lilliman with her heel. The Priest collapsed, his cries cut off. Serafina and Lyra turned and ran, chasing after River. Who was opening a wide double window.

Without a word, River held up her Cloud Pine branch and leapt into the air. Pan, without a word, snuggled into Lyra's shirt and dug his claws into the cloth. Serafina held up her own branch with one hand, and held Lyra's with the other. The strangest sensation came over Lyra, a feeling of blissful weightlessness. With the sound of boots behind them, Lyra and the witch leapt through the window and rose into the air, the lights of Boston shrinking behind them.


	8. Author's Note

Authors Note (Apology)

To all my wonderful readers, I am truly TRULY sorry for taking so long to update this story. My life has been rather hectic lately, but I've been drafting future chapters, so I'm hoping to keep them rolling out pretty regularly from now. I have a friend who has promised to kick me if I don't update regularly. So thank you all, I really appreciate the reviews! Much love. -Kyle


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